


The Contractor

by Meadowlark27



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Divorce, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 01:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4285065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meadowlark27/pseuds/Meadowlark27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gale’s infidelity rips their marriage apart, Katniss doesn’t anticipate falling in love again. Especially not with the other woman’s brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PM

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I decided to start another WiP out of the blue, but here it is.

She’s sorting the silverware when she finds the first note, wedged in the back of the utensil drawer. Judging by the pristine edges and the lack of smudging, she assumes it’s relatively new.

_Gale,_

_If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever._

_–PM_

Her first thought is, _Who the hell is PM?_ Her second thought is of Gale, and how he should be thanking his lucky stars he isn’t home, because if he was, she’d be putting the butter knife in her hand to good use.

* * *

Over dinner, the folded parchment burns through her pocket, making her leg bounce. She watches Gale and tries to pinpoint a change in his mannerisms, shift in demeanor, or any sort of indication that there’s someone else. But she finds nothing, which terrifies her more than if there’d been something obvious.

As he skewers his cucumber slices, she opens her mouth. The question stings like acid on her tongue. Her fingers slip into her pocket, dancing along the edge of the note.

But when his eyes cut to her across the table, his brow arching, she sinks back against her chair, her empty hand falling to her side.

“You have something to say?” he grunts.

 _Yes,_ she wants to scream, _who is she?_

Instead, all that comes out is, “How do you like the salad?”

* * *

In the two hours between her coming home from her job and Gale returning from his, she begins to take up an obscene amount of household chores. She convinces herself it’s because the house is a pigsty. Not because she wants to see if there are more notes,  _no, of course not._

So she should be surprised when she finds another slip of paper poking out from underneath the coasters on the coffee table, and then a third in between her copies of _Little Women_ and _Night_. But she isn’t surprised. Instead, she’s outright furious.

She makes sense of it all in her head, outlining the logistics. She goes into the lab at seven in the morning, whereas he doesn’t leave for the office until at least nine. Both of their daily itineraries are reliably constant, so he could’ve been sneaking _PM_ over in the mornings for years without her knowing.

Instead of preparing dinner as she usually does, she sits hunched at the kitchen table, waiting for Gale to return. All the notes she’s found are spread across the surface, neatly arranged like a science fair exhibition. She’s impatient for his explanation – if he has one – and in the meantime, she fumes.

She chooses to be angry, her circuitous thoughts stoking her fire with each elapsing minute, because she doesn’t know how she’d handle the alternative. Being furious with Gale is a lot more manageable than being heartbroken, so she keeps her jaw locked, her fists clenched.

* * *

“She—she isn’t important,” Gale says, tugging at his hair.

Katniss has the love notes fanned in her fingers like playing cards. “Well, she sure as hell seems to think you’re the world, Gale!”

“Look, I—” But he just shakes his head. He must know there isn’t any way to rationalize himself out of this mess.

Katniss slaps the paper onto the table. She watches him pace. She feels everything in her body disintegrate.

“How long has it been going on, Gale?”

Her voice is barely a whisper, which seems to shock him as much as it startles her. He stills, his wild eyes pinning on her.

He refuses to look away as he murmurs:

“Seven months.”

Her fingernails claw at the chair’s veneer, and she refuses to let go, because she knows if she does, Gale’s flesh will be replacing the wood. Bile rises in her throat. Her eyes sting brutally.

“Seven—” she chokes, her hand flying to her collar. “Seven _months_?”

“I wanted to tell you—”

“I want you to leave.” She refuses to look at him now, refuses to catch the eyes that are nearly identical to hers.

His feet shuffle. “Katniss…”

“Get out of this house.” Her voice is stronger now, which she finds remarkable, considering how her body has never felt so frail. “Now.”

She’s no stranger to Gale’s fiery protests, considering their six-year marriage was filled with about four-years’ worth of butting heads. So she expects him to grow angry, to violently dispute his punishment, to throw things, to yell.

But all she receives is the sound of heavy footsteps trailing from the kitchen, the metallic _clink_ of car keys, and the slam of their front door.

She crumples against the table.

* * *

 

After her appointment with her divorce lawyer, Katniss returns home to pack Gale’s things. She’s called him only twice since that night, the first time to tell him he could come grab his belongings in a week, and the second time to announce she’d have the papers ready when he arrived. It was then that he began to fight it, began to plead for time to figure things out, to which she reminded him that  _seven months is plenty of time_ , and slammed her phone against the wall receiver.

Prim meets her at the house, helping her shove Gale’s clothes into poorly-assembled boxes.

“Do you know who she is?” Prim asks.

Katniss punches one of his folded polo shirts deeper into the box, wishing his chest was under the fabric. “I don’t want to know.”

“Why not?”

With an exasperated sigh, Katniss leans back on her haunches, glaring at her sister.

“This isn’t about her, Prim. It’s about Gale. It doesn’t matter if she’s a prostitute or the fucking First Lady, because she wasn’t the one who stood across from me at the altar and promised to be faithful.”

Prim’s silent for a while, her finger idly grazing the edge of one box. And then, after a few moments have passed, she inches closer to her sister.

“I’m proud of you,” she says, finally, reaching out to touch Katniss’s knee. “You’re being brave.”

But Katniss has never been one for accepting compliments.

“I’m being realistic,” she rebuffs. “Even if he apologizes a million times, and buys me the sun and the moon, I still won’t be able to look at him again.”

She’s always been disinclined to forgive, which is one of the many things she has in common with Gale. So, of all the things she’s doing, he should understand her wrath the most.

* * *

When he comes to retrieve his things, she forks over the papers before indignantly folding her arms. Her eyes focus on the sidewalk, their shoes, a rabbit darting across the street behind him,  _anything_ , everything but the man who was her childhood best friend, her first lover, her  _only_ lover, and her promised endgame.

After all, she knows if she meets his eyes, she’ll find what she fell in love with in the first place. She doesn’t want to be reminded.

* * *

On account of the ample evidence proving Gale’s betrayal, Katniss winds up with nearly everything. She keeps the house, most of their money, and a lifetime supply of harbored resentment. Because Gale’s a high-end contractor, they were able to buy a decent-sized house after only two years of marriage, which seemed spacious even when there was two of them.

Now that there’s one, Katniss feels like the empty halls are swallowing her whole.

Instead of selling the damn thing, she decides a little project can alleviate the loneliness. A few days of careful thought lead her to the conclusion that a yoga room will do just this. She needs something to help her relax, anyhow, and if peace of mind can be achieved by way of renovating a room just for herself, then so be it.

And, just to stick it to Gale, she decides that the perfect room for this will be his old study.

On her lunch break at the lab, she calls Gale’s firm. Not only does she trust his company and know she can weasel her way into some sort of discount, but she’s also mildly entertained by the notion of Gale’s reaction to her hiring his associates to demolish his home office.

When the man she speaks to over the phone asks if she has any special requests, she smiles smugly to herself.

“Make sure you have your best man on the job,” she says, “and don’t let Gale Hawthorne touch this project.”

* * *

“I want hardwood floors,” she tells the lead contractor, a soft-eyed man with even softer blonde curls. “And that entire back wall, the one there – it should be windows.”

He nods, notating her wishes on his clipboard. Her eyes follow the motions of his hand, and she finds herself mesmerized by the gentle sweeps of his pen. His hands are big, calloused, but they look so steady.

“That’ll be beautiful,” he tells her when he looks up from his clipboard, his eyes cutting into hers. Blue, blue, blue. “With the trees and all.”

The back of their house is angled toward the woods, and she can imagine the view from this second story room will be breathtaking when the back wall is replaced by glass panels. Who says she needs to do yoga? She’ll be happy to curl up at the edge with a cup of tea, watching the sky melt as the sun sinks.

“We can start on Monday,” the contractor tells her. She fishes around in her short-term memory, searching for his name. He told her when he entered, but she hadn’t been paying attention. She doesn’t think he’ll respond enthusiastically to Mr. Blue Eyes.

“I’m usually at work around seven, so are you okay with letting yourselves in? I’d take the day off work, but I’ve already used up a lot of my vacation days, what with the—” Her heart plugs her throat, stopping herself from saying the forbidden ‘D’ word.

Mr. Blue Eyes is one of Gale’s partners at the firm, meaning he’s probably familiar with the gist of her situation. At least, that’d explain the sympathetic smile cinching up his lips and webbing in the corners of his eyes.

* * *

“Her name’s Piper,” Johanna blurts.

Completely oblivious to what her coworker’s talking about, Katniss just adjusts her slide under the microscope. “Hmm?”

“The other woman. Her name’s Piper,” she says. “Piper Mellark.”

 _PM_.

Her fingers jolt on the revolving nosepiece, her image slipping out of focus. She peers up from the microscope, glaring at Johanna, who’s standing across her work station, arms folded.

While her mutual friends with Gale have all unanimously sided with her in the split, she’s learned their loyalty comes with an asterisk. Just because they, like her, are infuriated with him, that doesn’t mean they’ve also elected to use the silent treatment as punishment. Most of them still speak with him, actually, even though she refuses.

When it comes to Johanna, the pattern doesn’t break, because the woman isn’t merely Katniss’s coworker. She used to be her roommate, too, before Katniss got engaged to Gale. The three of them were thick as thieves for so long, so it shouldn’t surprise her that Johanna still keeps up contact with her now-ex, although she’d be lying if she said it didn’t hurt a little. Gale broke her heart. He shouldn’t also get to keep their friends, especially not ones as important as Jo.

“I don’t care who she is,” Katniss says indignantly, gripping her microscope’s arm.

“You’re going to have to confront it eventually, Kat.”

“Yeah, in ten years, when I see the news of their infidelity-caused divorce in the paper.”

“This town is big, but it’s not bottomless. You’ll run into him eventually, you know. Or worse, you’ll run into _them._ ”

If this means that Gale’s still with this Piper girl – and why wouldn’t he be? – she doesn’t want to hear about it.

But Johanna misinterprets her silence as acquiescence, leaning forward on the counter, digging her elbows into the surface.

“She’s one of the firm’s attorneys. Apparently new.” Johanna sighs. “Meaning this wasn’t years in the making, Katniss. He fucked you over, but at least he hasn’t been doing it for that long.”

Her blood sears her veins, electrifying her nerve endings. “You’re _defending_ him?” she hisses.

But Johanna holds up her hands innocently. “No, no, what he did was inexcusable. All I’m saying is, if you were worried that he’s been lusting after this woman since he got to the firm, don’t beat yourself up.”

Oh, Katniss surely isn’t beating herself up. Her anger still has yet to give way to any semblance of grief – in due course, she suspects she’ll have to confront the ache, or the feelings of inadequacy, or the loss of her best friend, not just the loss her husband. But for now, she refuses to express anything beyond a smoldering resentment.

Katniss’s body feels like clay as she slumps against the side of the counter.

“Hey Jo?”

Her friend cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Did you, uh…” Her heart thumps slowly, as if it’s becoming too lazy to keep time. “Did you know about it?”

The jagged edges in Johanna’s gaze grow soft. Her lips flatten.

“No one did, Katniss. We had no idea he’d do this to you.”

* * *

Per usual, Katniss returns from work to an empty house, only this time, the upstairs study is taped off. She has half a mind to peek inside, to survey the damage, but as soon as she tip-toes to the closed door, she’s stopped by the sight of a note taped to the plywood.

_So far, so good. Call the firm if you have any questions._

_-PM_

Her skin prickles.

_PM?_

The delicate handwriting drags her back to just a few weeks prior, when she found the network of love notes stashed away in her home. Immediately, her whole body begins to blaze, shards of red and black slicing behind her lids.

She doesn’t even know what she’s doing until she’s in the parking lot outside the firm, but even when she’s yanking the keys from the ignition, she can’t stop herself. She feels like a boiling pot of pasta capped off with a lid, her rage bubbling up higher and higher under the surface, making the cover rattle.

She’s going to explode. She knows it. And she can’t stop it.

Her whole body is trembling as she throws open the door to the firm. Behind the front desk sit Bristel and Leevy, the two secretaries she’s become well acquainted with over the years, since it wasn’t uncommon for her to visit Gale at the office on her lunch break.

They blanche when they see her. They must know.

“Katniss!” Leevy calls out, a nervous smile plastered on her red-slicked lips. “What a—a pleasant surprise—”

“Where are they?’ she snarls. A waiflike image of Gale fucking a faceless body on his work desk snaps through her head, burning into her retinas. They could be together, right now, just four floors above her.

She doesn’t miss how Bristel mutters something into her earpiece as Katniss stares Leevy down. Probably calling security, she realizes.

“Please, would you calm down, Mrs. Hawthorne—”

Oh, no. That won’t do.

Her bones blaze as she relentlessly carves her glare into Leevy’s face.

“Don’t. You. _Dare._ Call. Me. That.”

There are voices down the hall, and she turns to see two men in dark shirts approaching, their coiled walkies poking over the top of their belts.

“Do _you_ know where they are?” she snaps at the men as they meet her in the lobby.

“Miss, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving until I know where they are,” she snarls, pointing angrily at the ceiling. “She was in my _house_! She left _me_ a note!”

When she demanded that the firm keep her ex-husband off the job, she hadn’t realized they’d stick the _other woman_ on. What the firm’s attorney was doing on site, she couldn’t guess, but she was _there_ , in the home she tore apart, and that’s all that matters.

Katniss wants to scream.

“Miss, we’ll have to escort you out.”

“I’m not going _anywhere_.” Her voice rips its way through her throat, leaving her lungs feeling raw with flame. “Not until I tell her to _stay the fuck away from my house._ ”

One of the security guards reaches for her arm, but she jolts back. She’s never done this before – caused such a scene – and she knows she’ll be the talk of the office for weeks, but in the moment, she doesn’t care. In some twisted way, she’s almost proud. Her reputation here no longer matters, but the fact that his ex-wife tore into his office to throw a temper tantrum will certainly be a stain on Gale’s.

The other security guard is reaching in his belt when she hears the front door open, followed by a thin gasp.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

With the guards stalled, she whirls around and nearly buckles over. In the doorway stands a startled Mr. Blue Eyes, his fingers curled around the handle of a Chinese takeout bag.

For a moment, she’s almost excited to see him, before that eagerness quickly dissolves into fury. She gave him the keys to her house.

 _He_ must’ve let Piper Mellark in.

She has half a mind to stalk across the lobby and smack that pink flush straight out of his cheeks, but she manages to hold back, thrusting an angry pointer finger in his direction.

“ _You_ ,” she snarls. “You let _her_ in.”

“Her?” His brow is creased in confusion, and bravely, he takes a step forward. “What are you talking about?”

“The note! The fucking note, just like the ones she left scattered all over my damn house! She left one on the door, because _you_ let her come into _my_ home—”

His eyes widen to the size of quarters, his disorientation morphing to outright fear.

And then, suddenly, he flushes madly. With a tortured groan, his palm slaps over his forehead.

“Shit, Katniss, that isn’t it.” He approaches her slowly, much like a zookeeper would approach a rampant rhino, his hands held out in a desperate plea. “Look, I should’ve known better. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You weren’t thinking, so you let _my husband’s mistress come into my house_?”

“No, she wasn’t there,” he promises, apology pouring out of his eyes and placating hands. “She didn’t leave the note. I did.”

 Katniss shakes her head, her temples throbbing. _What_?

“But the initials. PM.”

“Those are mine,” he clarifies.

“But those are—those are the ones—”

“I know,” he whispers, and by the way his eyes glint, she realizes that his simple _I know_ means _I know everything_. Not just about Gale’s infidelity, or the woman he was sleeping with, but about how the marriage dissolved in a series of notes in just a matter of days.

She suddenly feels cold. Her body tingles with exposure, as if her bones are bared to the world. As all the gazes in the lobby rake over her – Leevy’s, Brisel’s, the guards’, and most importantly, Mr. Blue Eyes’ – she feels herself grow smaller, shrinking into nothing but an embarrassment, an idiot, and a slave to her wrath.

For the first time since she found out about Gale, she wants to cry.

“Hey,” Mr. Blue Eyes whispers, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Despite its awkwardness, the gesture is remotely soothing. “Look, I’ve got some takeout here, and enough crab rangoons to feed an entire army. How about you come up to my office and help me tackle all this food?”

With a pathetic sniffle, she nods.

“It’s okay,” he tells Leevy, Bristel, and the security guards as he leads her away. “We’ll walk it off.”

She appreciates that he, unlike the others, isn’t treating her like a feral animal, even though she just acted like one.

After he’s directed her into the elevator, and the doors have closed, she pushes her hair out of her face and looks to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

He nudges her shoulder. “Don’t be. If I was in your position, I probably wouldn’t have acted much differently.”

“But I didn’t think.” Her throat is thick, and she wills herself not to cry. “I didn’t even _try_ to stop myself. I knew I was being irrational, but once I saw the note, I just…”

“I’ll spell out my name next time,” he offers with a gentle smile. “Then we won’t have anything to worry about.”

She feels awful for asking this, but after how sweet he’s being, she knows she must.

“I feel like an idiot, but… what _is_ your name?”

He chuckles as the elevator dings to a stop, and he tells her, “Peeta.”

It’s odd. But she likes it, the way its sound curls against her ear drums.

When they step onto the fourth floor, she ducks her head. “If he’s here,” she whispers, “I don’t want to see him.”

“No problem.” He steps closer and adds, “I can be your human body shield. Years of mildly-used gym memberships have trained me for this moment.”

Some strange sound bubbles in her throat, and she’s startled to discover it’s a giggle. She can’t remember the last time she laughed, the noise dusting off the cobwebs in her lungs, making them ache.

Thankfully, Peeta’s office is on the opposite side of the wing from Gale’s, so with careful maneuvering, they slip into his unseen. For good measure, Peeta closes the blinds.

Once he’s parked in the swivel chair behind his desk, she takes the seat across from him, pulling it up to the edge. His workspace is already in pristine condition, so to clear off the space between them, all he does is shuffle around a few papers.

“Take your pick,” he says when he unbags the takeout cartons. “Beef lo mein, cashew chicken, firecracker shrimp. Oh, and at least two tons of fried rice.”

She gives him a shy smile as she picks at the seal of the cashew chicken box. “Were you planning on eating this all by yourself?”

He splays his palms over his flat abdomen. “Can’t you tell?” he jokes. And then, handing her a pair of chopsticks: “No, I usually buy plenty extra, since some of the interns overwork themselves and forget to take a lunch break.”

She ogles the carton of chicken, her face flushing red. “So basically, I’m weaseling a poor kid out of their dinner?”

“If it’s just for tonight, I’m sure one won’t mind tiding themselves over with vending machine trail mix.” Then he grins at her. “Especially if I tell them they sacrificed it to a pretty girl.”

She shoves her chopstick into the mound of chicken before his words settle in.

 _What_?

But when she glances up, he isn’t looking at her, instead focused on delicately prying apart his crab rangoon.

“So, you’re into yoga?” he asks.

Still disoriented, she spatters out, “Excuse me?”

“The yoga room?” His chin lifts as he looks at her. “I mean, you must be pretty serious if you’re dedicating a whole room to it.”

“Oh.” She scratches her ear. “I’ve taken a few classes, and it helps me relax, I guess. Really, I just needed to do something to that house.”

“Positive change,” he adds, pointing a chopstick in her direction. “Not that my opinion matters, but I think it’s a good idea. Making a space all for yourself, I mean.”

She nods absently. Her chest pulses with a hollow throb, and she tries not to think about why.

A few moments of silence trickle between them before she looks up, finding that his eyes are already pegged on her. They’re so startlingly blue, and also startlingly sad.

Before she can ask why, his shoulders slump.

“I’m really sorry, Katniss,” he murmurs.

“Sorry?”

He’s setting his chopsticks down with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. “About the note. I—I should’ve known better.”

Half out of bravery, and half out of mortification, she asks, “How much do you know?”

The implicit _about the divorce_ hangs between them. She watches as he leans back in his chair.

“Too much,” he says eventually. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll keep my lips sealed. I know how personal that stuff is. And, while I haven’t gone through anything like it myself… I know it hurts.”

As sweet as his reassurances are, she can’t focus on anything else beyond his _too much._

“Does everyone here know?” she rasps. “About…”

“About what Gale did?” His chest rises. “I mean, everyone knows about… about him and Piper.” Her name sears Katniss’s chest like a hot plate, and she swallows a thick knot in her throat. “But that’s it. I think the only person who knows the gory details is me.”

Billows of pink bloom in her cheeks.

“Why you?” she asks, the words coming out far sharper than intended.

His own face begins to flush, but his eyes are courageous as they remain locked with hers.

“Well, it’s more than a coincidence that she and I share the same initials.” He leans forward, the corner of his lips quirking in a rueful smile. “Piper Mellark is my sister.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Piper Mellark is my sister._

Katniss can’t decide whether she should scream, cry, laugh, or storm out of his office, so she finds a happy medium by wheezing out, “ _Oh_.”

“I wanted to tell you earlier,” he says quietly, “but then I convinced myself it’d be more professional for me to just stay out of it.” She watches his brows crease together, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re upset.”

“I—” Her gaze hides itself in her cashew chicken. “I don’t know how to feel.”

His shoulders slump. “It’s a lot to deal with.”

And it is, oh, it _is_. Since the moment they connected, Peeta Mellark’s friendship has been warm, comforting in its unlikeliness. Now she feels betrayed. Not by him, of course, but by her situation; her single silver lining is dragging a fucking massive storm cloud in tow. How is this fair?

She sets her takeout box on the edge of his desk, sitting back. She can’t look at him.

“If you’re angry with me, I understand,” he says when she doesn’t speak, and her gaze finally snaps up to his, grey tangling in the blue. He looks too apologetic as he leans forward. “I made a mistake. This isn’t the first time Piper’s slept with a married man—”

She chokes. “I don’t want to hear about her.”

“I’m sorry. I just—I need you to know that I stayed out of it because she asked me to. She told me to not get involved, so I didn’t. She’s my sister, and I love her, Katniss, so even though I don’t agree with her choices, I have to accept them.”

She understands. Or, she _wants_ to understand, but the wires in her brain feel like they’ve been yanked away from their sockets. Rubbing her temples, she tries to tug herself back together.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits, squeezing her eyes shut.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just need you to know that I never tried to hurt you.”

But that’s just it. No one’s _tried_ to hurt her, because no one’s stopped to consider her. Gale didn’t consider her feelings when he dove into Piper’s bed, or snuck Piper into _hers_ ; Piper didn’t consider her feelings when she fucked a man who belonged to someone else; Peeta didn’t consider her feelings when he stayed silent, and when he taped that note to her door. Of all the offenses, Peeta’s was by far the mildest, but it still hurts. _Everything_ hurts. And she’s tired of being hurt by people, or by things, that are beyond her control. She may not be the World’s Greatest Human, but she doesn’t deserve what she’s been put through.

Needing to clear her head – or to be alone, even – she pushes out from the desk, rising to her feet, cashew chicken and all sense of courtesy forgotten. “I need to go,” she says.

Peeta stands, too. “Katniss—”

“I can’t be here. I can’t—this is too much.”

“Please,” he begs.

But she’s down the hall before she can watch his expression drop.

* * *

She relays her and Peeta’s conversation over the phone to Prim later that night, curled up in the armchair in the living room, every light shut off. She feels numb.

“I don’t know what to do now,” she says when she’s done, coiling her arms around her knees.

Prim’s quiet for a moment. And then, slowly: “Katniss, why did you get mad at him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I was really mad at _him_ , per se, I just… I wish I wouldn’t have to be in this situation.”

“He didn’t put you in it, though.”

“I know.” She rubs her scalp. “But… Prim, he _knew_. He knew about his sister and Gale. He was the only person who did, and he just stood there, and then when I hired him, he… he should’ve told me.”

“What was he supposed to say? ‘Hey, my name’s Peeta, and by the way, my sister’s the girl your husband cheated on you with?’ It sounds like he was just trying to respect your privacy by not bringing up the divorce.” Then, Prim sighs. “And I don’t really think it’s fair for you to blame him for not doing anything when it was still going on. He loves his sister, Katniss, and she asked him to butt out. Besides, he didn’t know you. He didn’t owe you anything. _Gale_ was the one who owed you the truth, which he didn’t give to you. Be angry at him. I can even understand if you’re angry with her. But don’t be angry with the girl’s _brother_ , who seems to be a really nice guy, and who tried to handle these circumstances the best he could.”

Katniss’s stomach roils as she thinks about his face, crestfallen and apologetic. Prim’s right. Like her, Peeta also had no control over the situation – if anything, she should be thankful he finally told her.

With the receiver still clutched to her ear, she buries her face in her knees and releases a shaky exhale. The conversation ends soon after, and once it does, Katniss treads back to her room to throw on her pajamas. After doing so, she wanders around the empty house, her fingers gliding along the walls in the gloom.

Even with the voice in her head screaming for her to stop, she lets herself into the study. The site smells like glue and sandalwood, the interior stripped, one wall demolished, tape bound everywhere. And it’s now, finally, that she realizes what this means. Gale is really gone. For good. And she, like his study, is left ravaged and empty.

She flees from the unfinished room, throwing herself into her bed. Her face digs into the pillow, and she lets out a tortured wail, its cry shredding through her thick, aching throat.

Gale was supposed to love her. Forever. This was supposed to be his bed, his house, and she was supposed to be his, just like he was supposed to be hers, which was what they’d promised at the alter and the hundreds of days before and after. But he broke that. He broke _her_. And now, he’s allowed the comfort of someone else’s bed, while she’s deserted and given nothing. As she tangles in her sheets, she finally lets herself cry, both for herself and also for him – Gale wasn’t just her husband, because long before he assumed that title, he was her best friend, too, as well as one of the very few people she trusted.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to bring herself to put her faith in someone else. Or even, to love like that again. It may be early, and the wound may still be painfully fresh, but Katniss has never had an easy time with trusting others. Now, she doesn’t see the point anymore. Not when it ends like this, with her chest throbbing, her throat raw, her pillow wet but her eyes dry, and with her alone in this bed, its sheets swallowing her tiny, tired body alive.

* * *

When her alarm blares the following morning, she’s already awake, folded under a pile of blankets. She can barely lift her hand to punch the  _off_ button; her muscles are stiff like lead flanks, her skin cold and stretched tight around her bones. She drags her phone from the nightstand, quickly dials, and holds the receiver to her hear.

The voice on the other end is groggy. “What?”

“Hey, Jo. It’s Katniss.”

“I have caller ID, kid.”

“Oh.” Katniss scratches her forehead. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that I, uh—I think I’m gonna skip work today.”

“Not feeling well?”

Not in the way she’s thinking, but Katniss sighs, “Yeah. Think you can tell the boss for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” Johanna yawns. “Well, take care of yourself, Kat. Drink some Gatorade. Get some rest. Egg Gale’s car. The day is yours.”

A small smile touches Katniss’s lips.

She lays in bed for a while longer, waiting for her nerves to finally wake up, although she doesn’t expect she’ll be able to function fully today at all. She hardly slept, and when she did, it was shallow and punctuated with restless fits. As she lies there, she tries to make up for some of that lost time. But her body seems too exhausted to comply. Two hours later, her eyes have drowned themselves in the ceiling patterns, unconsciously following the planes and shadows ridged along the paint; she decides it’s time to give up.

With her robe draped over her tank and sleep shorts, she trudges to the kitchen to brew herself some mint tea. Roughly an hour passes while she sits at the table, frozen fingers curled around the mug, trying and failing to contract some of the heat buzzing from the ceramic. The light outside fades from grey to pink, and then to white. She waits. She sips. She stares.

Unfortunately, she’s entirely forgotten the construction crew that’s been coming to her house every day until she hears a key clicking in the front door. She hasn’t ever crossed paths with them, considering she’s always at work when they arrive; she wonders if Peeta is among them, or if he’ll come later. A small part of her hopes he doesn’t come at all. Not only is she indecent, but she’s still not sure how to act around him, especially after she fled from his office yesterday.

But apparently, the odds aren’t working in her favor today. Her heart flies up in her throat at the sound of the first voice coming through the door, which is, most definitely, his. He’s laughing about something with another worker as he leads them inside, the heavy tread of the men’s boots echoing through the front hall. She’s rigid, motionlessly wedged in her kitchen chair, praying they won’t notice her.

But of course, _of course_ , Peeta does.

“Katniss?”

She turns slowly to see him standing under the arch of the kitchen’s entryway, his too-blue eyes also too wide. They bug out even further when he looks her over; she must be an absolute train wreck. If she looks half as bad as she feels, she’ll still look like a deflated, shredded potato sack. He’s probably horrified. Well. _Good._

“You’re—are you okay?” he asks, knuckles white as they grip his clipboard. Concern is etched into every inch of his sharp features.

She shrugs. “I’m staying home from work today.” Then, rubbing her shoulder: “I promise I’ll stay out of your men’s way.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, but his voice is breathy.

She expects him to leave her, but she finds herself oddly relieved when he stays, squaring his stance under the archway. His eyes are expectant, his jaw slack in hesitation, as if he’s fighting for the right thing to say.

Finally, she hears his throat catch.

“Is this because of what happened yesterday?”

“Is what?”

He motions to her. “You look like you barely slept.”

“Ah, so it shows.”

His eyes are sad, and he takes a step inward.

“Is this my fault?” he asks quietly, tucking his clipboard into his chest. “I feel awful, Katniss. I handled that whole situation so poorly.”

But he didn’t – he has to know this, right? Now that the initial sting has worn off, and Prim’s words have settled in, she understands that he did the best he could. He was given a raw deal – respect his beloved sister’s wishes, or favor morality over bloodlines – and he chose what nearly anyone else would’ve. Then, when they first met, he intended to spare her the discomfort and anger of bringing it up. How was that _handling it poorly_?

She was wrong, earlier, when she thought that he didn’t consider her feelings. He was one of the only few people who had.

With any residual anger evaporating from her skin, Katniss deflates against the back of the chair, her face dropping into her hands. “I shouldn’t have run out on you,” she apologizes. “None of this was your fault.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have just sat there.” His voice raw with pain. “I was too much of a coward to consider what she was doing, Katniss. If I’d thought about it, I would’ve realized she was tearing a marriage apart, and then I would’ve tried to do the right thing—”

“Look, if she was able to tear us apart, then that was a problem with us, not her.” Initially, she says this just so he’ll stop beating himself up, but as the words dangle in the air between them, she begins to feel their weight on her muscles. Gale cheating on her was not a result of Peeta’s sister’s flawless seduction techniques. It was a result of their own flaws. Their marriage had problems, clearly. But what? Was it _her_? Had she done something to drive Gale away? “Is something wrong with me?” she whispers, too embarrassed to look up to him, instead blushing at her trembling hands.

She hears Peeta move before she sees him, the creak of the floorboards groaning as he crosses the space between them, kneeling in front of her. He’s so _close_ to her, his proximity oddly intimate for how little they know each other. But, somehow, it feels right, what with his warmth and smell surrounding her.

“Nothing,” he whispers, the word a breath of sincerity. “No one is ever responsible for being cheated on.”

She feels her throat swelling as he holds her gaze; she can’t bring herself to look away. Although he hasn’t convinced her – he barely knows her, so how could he exonerate her of all guilt? – his sincerity is a small but adequate comfort, and she finally feels her heart thumping at a steady pulse again.

“Look,” he says, touching the back of her hand. “I have to go back to work. You know, make sure the guys aren’t punching any unnecessary holes in your wall.”

“I could always use an extra closet for my yoga room,” she tries to joke, still feeling heavy but already in a slightly better mood.

But he gives her a genuine smile, one that shocks light into his eyes.

“I think you should try to get some sleep. That, or binge on Netflix, if it’ll help you de-stress.”

“Because that’ll work, what with all the hammering going on…”

He makes a face. “Good point.” But he stands anyway, angling his body toward the doorway. “Oh, hey – just thought you should know, I’ll be experimenting with takeout from a new Mexican restaurant tonight.”

Oblivious to his point, she cocks an eyebrow.

“Well,” he says, “I’d love for you to come cheat another intern out of their dinner with me. You know, if you aren’t totally passed out by then.”

Heat flutters in her cheeks. Following convention, she starts to spin a polite rejection. But as it curls on the tip of her tongue, she realizes that she doesn’t _want_ to turn him down. He may be the brother of her ex-husband’s girlfriend, but he’s also, somehow, her friend.

“If I’m not totally passed out by then,” she parrots, a smile finding its way to her lips.

* * *

She feels uncomfortable as she stumbles out of her car, then as she enters the lobby, then as Bristel and Leevy’s eyes follow her to the elevator, and even more so when she ducks against the wall as she’s lifted to the fourth floor. She can’t figure out why she’s allowing herself to do this, why she’s allowing herself to get sucked into a new friendship when she can still barely keep herself together. But there’s something so compelling about Peeta’s presence. Something so…  _soothing_ .

And so, the moment she ducks through his open door to find him waiting for her, the discomfort ebbs, giving way to an unlikely calm. His blue eyes pin on her from behind his desk, each attractive feature lighting up at the sight of her.

“Hey, you came just in time,” he says, gesturing for her to enter. “I don’t think a lukewarm quesadilla would give us an accurate perception of this place.”

She sits down in the seat across from him, heat licking its way into her cheeks as he unpacks one of the takeout bags.

“Find the office okay?” he asks conversationally, handing her a fork and a Styrofoam box.

She nods in the affirmative. “And I had no run-ins with security this time.”

“Remarkable,” he replies, his eyes gleaming. “Someone should give you an award.”

“I think the suspicious glares of the receptionists will suffice.”

His nose scrunches up, which she finds oddly cute. And then she chastises herself, because she’s a twenty-eight-year-old divorcee who’s been single for less than a month. And he’s the other woman’s brother.

“Looks like I’ve earned myself quite a reputation at this office,” she says as she inspects her probably-chicken quesadilla, prodding at it with her fork.

“You’ll just have to come around more often, then,” he says with a wink. “You know, to prove them wrong.”

She studies his grin, trying to read him. Is he inviting her back?

“What’s your gain, Mellark?” she finds herself asking, doubt rising in her chest. “You like hanging out with borderline-psychotic divorcees?”

“I like getting to know people I find interesting,” he quips immediately without so much as a blink. “You’re not psychotic.”

“ _Borderline_ -psychotic,” she corrects.

“You’re completely sane, Katniss.” He leans forward. “And fun to talk to. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“So, this—” She motions to the space between them with the end of her fork—“isn’t just you cleaning up for your sister?”

His eyes bug out at her inference, horror carved into his expression. “Is that what you think?”

“I mean, I know keeping me company isn’t exactly a walk in the park—”

“Katniss Everdeen,” he says, his tone equal parts reprimanding and sympathetic, and her stomach twists pleasantly at the sound of her real surname, not her ex-husband’s. “Cleaning up after my sister’s romantic plights would be a full-time job in and of itself. I’m thirty years old and fully answerable for my own choices. And I’ve chosen to hang out with you because I think you’re a peach. Alright?”

He says this with such conviction that she can’t laugh at him calling her a peach. But she does manage to shell out a smile, one that’s uncharacteristically genuine. It feels nice.

“Now,” he says, his own grin twisting at his lips, “hush up and eat your quesadilla.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr at the-peeta-pocket. Come party with me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter arrived much earlier than expected. Many, many thanks to the incredible louezem and deinde-prandium (or should I say, proof-reading goddesses) for smoothing out the bumps in this update.

“You were not,” Katniss laughs, scrunching up her nose.

She watches Peeta from across his desk, amused with how poorly he’s fighting a smile. “You have no idea, Katniss. I was the chubbiest kid in my class. Tubby belly and all.”

“I need photographic evidence.”

Drawing his phone from beside his computer, Peeta leans back in his swivel chair and drags his finger in a series of swipes across the screen. “I’m flattered you think I’ve always had this magnificent physique, but growing up as a baker’s son did have its consequences.”

Katniss still can’t believe it. Although she’s only seen him in dress shirts, the way the cloth tightens around his thick biceps and stretches over the flat plane of his abdomen suggests he has the body of a god, or at least a professional basketball player. It’s hard to imagine a time when that wasn’t the case.

But then Peeta’s eyes light up, a smirk slinking across his face as he holds his phone out for her to see. And there it is, a mediocre-quality snap of a school photo, the subject a blue-eyed boy with blonde curls and an impressive, sagging tummy. Oh _my_.

She clamps a hand over her mouth, trying – and failing – to stifle her giggle. “Oh, _Peeta_ ,” she snorts into her palm. She can tell it’s him because of the eyes, but otherwise, the doughy boy is virtually unrecognizable. “You were so—”

“Obese?” he chuckles.

“I was going to say _cute_.” She pushes his phone away, motioning to his body. “When did _this_ happen?”

“High school. A healthy combination of wrestling and growth spurts really does wonders, doesn’t it?”

_Oh, it does_ , she wants to say, but she keeps her lips sealed.

They smile at each other across his desk, their gazes locked for a second too long. Warmth tangles in her chest as she studies the slight wrinkles webbing from the corners of his eyes, the ones that deepen as he grins; she’s been noticing them a lot in the past week, since he’s been inviting her to his office every night. She wonders how much of her he’s been noticing, too.

Then suddenly, as if an invisible fist socks them both in the gut, they flinch and look away – Katniss, to what little is left of her food, and Peeta, to the ceiling.

_What was that?_

She coughs awkwardly, gripping her knees. “I, um… I should probably let you get back to your work.”

His brows crease. “Already?”

“Well, I’ve been here for almost an hour…”

She watches as his eyes cut to the clock, his eagerness to disprove her almost palpable. Her cheeks burn; as much as the thought scares her, she likes that he likes to spend time with her.

When he realizes it’s nearly seven o’clock, Peeta pouts, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Once again, kids, Katniss Everdeen is right.” He lets out a thick sigh, one that makes her pulse clunk heavily in response. “Will I see you again tomorrow?”

She isn’t prepared for the soft innocence in his voice, and she stammers, “D-don’t you, uh, get off early on Fridays?”

“Technically, but I have a ridiculous number of floor plans to proof before the weekend,” he says with a resigned sigh. “Please, come keep me company. Lighten my burden. Be my saving grace. I beg you.”

“Peeta, I take up an hour of your time that you could be investing elsewhere—”

“See, perfect logic, right?” He smiles widely at her. Too widely for her to refuse.

So, she sinks against the back of her chair, rolling her eyes. “Fine, I’ll be here.”

“Perfect.” His eyes glint. “What do you think you’ll be in the mood for? Mongolian? Burgers? Italian? Taco Bell?”

“Surprise me,” she says as she stands, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Oh, hey— when do you think the yoga room will be done?”

At this, Peeta groans, rubbing his face. “I’m so sorry it’s taking so long. My window guys fucked up pretty bad, so we probably won’t be out of there until next Tuesday. Wednesday, at the latest.”

She just shrugs, because truth be told, she doesn’t mind that he and his workers are still coming to her house for a few hours each weekday. At least it gives her an excuse to keep in touch with him. She’s not sure what’ll happen when it’s over. It makes sense for her to see him now, since his name’s on her contract, but once they don’t have a professional relationship in pen, how will she be able to justify coming to his office in the evenings?

She’s a recent divorcée. He’s an attractive man. They always lock stares for a second too long. She knows how it looks. She just can’t decide how it feels.

Katniss gives him a soft smile before she leaves, which he mirrors warmly. And then she turns, slipping out of his office, quietly making her way to the elevators. She’s done a remarkable job of avoiding Gale since she started coming here. She doesn’t doubt that word of her presence has gotten around to him, especially after the scene she caused last week, but she’s thankful it hasn’t resulted in an unnecessary confrontation. She’s not sure if she could stomach having her brief reprieve with Peeta ripped away, thanks to a clash with her ex-husband – the same ex-husband she’s dutifully refusing to think about, because confronting his betrayal head-on would be too painful.

Hanging out with Peeta, on the other hand, is the stark opposite of painful. It’s relaxing, enjoyable, and it gives her an hour out of her day to forget about her recent divorce. Unlike her other friends, Peeta doesn’t make her talk about it. He doesn’t treat her like a wounded animal.

Although she doesn’t like to admit it, she also gets a little flicker of satisfaction from knowing that if Gale can somehow snag his own happily-ever-after with someone else, then Katniss can have a grand old time with that someone else’s brother.

* * *

At work the following morning, Katniss is unpacking the new shipment of cavity slides when Johanna comes up behind her, almost making her drop the box of glass.

“What do you want?” Katniss growls as she steadies her footing, edging the package on the table’s surface for good measure.

“Come get drinks with me tonight,” Johanna says. “The Friday-night bartender at Firebelly is a gem, I tell you. He’s got an _incredible_ mouth. I can only imagine all the thing he can do with it…”

Gritting her teeth, Katniss hisses, “I just got _divorced_ , Jo, and you’re trying to set me up with a _bartender_?”

“Not for you,” she laughs. “I was hoping you’d be my wingman.”

Katniss’s anger fizzles a little, but she remains steeled. “Look,” she says, “as much as I love to watch my friend shamelessly hit on some poor guy, I can’t. I’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” Johanna dramatically clutches the left side of her chest. “Lord Almighty. Katniss Everdeen has _plans_?”

_This_ is why Katniss likes spending time with Peeta. He doesn’t mock her, or treat her like a pathetic recluse. “What, is that so hard to believe?”

She shrugs, her eyes laced with amusement. “Well, you haven’t exactly been the most _social_ person since…” She manages to stop herself, perhaps because she’s intelligent enough to avoid the whole divorce topic. More likely, it’s because Katniss’s eyes are carving angry daggers into hers. “What’s on your agenda?”

“I’m just—grabbing dinner,” she grumbles, and then tacks on lamely, “With a friend.”

“A friend?” Johanna’s eyes narrow. “Who?”

It isn’t a secret that Katniss’s social circle is about as expanded as a deflated balloon, but still, her skin prickles at Johanna’s cynicism. “I have friends, okay?” she says, crossing her arms defensively.

“Whatever you say. But you can’t get rid of me that fast – who is she?”

Katniss’s nails begin digging into her elbow, her face tingling as she looks to the floor. Before she can answer, Johanna slaps her hand over her own mouth.

“Oh my god. It’s a _guy_?”

Damn her traitorous blush.

“ _No_ —” she sputters. “I mean, yes, but it’s not like that—”

“Spill. Now.”

Katniss sags against the counter’s edge, palming her own forehead. She wonders how much praying it’d take to somehow convince God to let the earth devour her. Where does she begin?

“He’s—he’s the contractor, you know, the one remodeling my room? I’m going to his office tonight. To, uh, discuss… blueprints.”

_Dumb. So, so dumb._

If anyone can see through Katniss’s pitiful forgery, it’s Johanna, who pegs her with a knowing smirk. “You _like_ him.”

“I do _not_ ,” she declares with a huff, not unlike a whiney toddler. “He’s a good guy. He’s— nice. But it’s too soon for me to start thinking about that again.”

She doesn’t argue, which surprises Katniss, but she’ll take whatever silence she can get from Johanna. Still, the girl isn’t done with her grilling. She narrows her eyes, frowning as she looks her friend over. “Wait, so he’s one of the contractors at Gale’s firm?”

“Yeah.”

Johanna’s brows are still wrinkled together, her lips pursed. “I wonder if Gale’s ever mentioned him. What’s his name?”

And _there it is_. Heat weaves through Katniss’s cheeks and forehead, the taste of his name sticking to her tongue. There’s no easy way to say this, no way for her to hedge around the truth.

With a resigned sigh, she looks down, her gaze seeking refuge in the tiled floor.

“His name’s Peeta. Peeta Mellark.”

A second ticks by – then two, and then three – without a response, but Katniss can’t bring herself to look up from her shoes.

Then she hears Johanna exhale, her sigh hesitantly tight. When she finally speaks, all she relinquishes is a flat, “ _Oh_.”

Katniss chances a look at her friend, finding her face too unreadable.

“It was a coincidence that he was put on my project,” Katniss gushes, “and I didn’t even know it was _him_ until a couple of days into the remodel—”

“What does Gale think?” she says, suddenly.

Her insinuation rubs Katniss the wrong way, and she bristles. “Why does it matter what _he_ thinks?”

“I mean, Katniss, you’re—look, there isn’t an easy way to put this. But you’re spending your Friday night hanging out with his mistress’s _brother_ —”

“What are you trying to say?” she snarls. “That I’m only making friends with people to get back at my ex? Maybe I’m doing this for _me_ , Jo.”

“I’m just telling you how it _looks_.”

“And I’m just telling you I think that’s bullshit,” she snaps. Her throat is scraped raw.

Johanna stands there, opposite her and blinking away the shock, as several silent moments pass. In confrontations, her demeanor is typically as prickly as Katniss’s, but this time, she seems to soften as each second ticks by.

And then she sighs.

“I think it’s good that you’re making new friends, Kat,” she begins, each word swollen with hesitation. “But I know you. I know how you’re dealing with the divorce. You— you’re bottling things up, alright? You’re ignoring your feelings, and it isn’t healthy. So while you may have some pretty damn noble intentions when it comes to this Mellark guy, you might… I don’t know, Katniss. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I just think you need to be careful with him.”

But Katniss doesn’t want to be careful. She just wants to stop hurting, and she wants things to be good again.

And so far, only Peeta Mellark – with his unlikely, comfortable friendship – has been able to give her that.

* * *

She’s more frazzled than usual as she darts into the elevator, pushing her hair from her face and tucking her braid down the back of her neck. It’s been a rough day – mostly because she and Johanna aren’t on speaking terms, on account of the impressive silent treatment she’s managed to sustain – and the only thing that’s gotten her through this is the promise of her dinner with Peeta. Thinking about him sends a little thrill up her spine; she feels like she’s in junior high all over again, enlivened by her new friendship. She refuses to entertain the idea that it’s anything deeper. She’s a divorcée, god dammit, not a soppy adolescent. She can keep her hormones in check.

Her skin’s tingling with anticipation as she steps off the elevator, her head clouded from the day’s residual stress. Typically, she peeks around corners before jetting out into the open hallways, because this isn’t her territory. But she’s too high-strung to remember to be cautious, which is exactly why, when she rounds the corner of a grey cubicle, she accidentally collides with a much-larger body.

She stumbles back a little. At first, she thanks the cosmos that she isn’t in heels – that could’ve been messy – but as she sees the man standing before her, she decides her footwear isn’t what she should be talking to the heavens about.

It’s the first time she’s seen him in weeks, but he looks no different than he did the day she delivered the divorce papers. She doesn’t know why she’s so startled that he hasn’t changed, but even so, she can’t ignore the sickening wrench of her gut at the sight of his grey eyes, thick lips, large hands. They’re features she used to know so well, used to love on her, over her, against her.

Fuck. _Fuck._

Her mouth bobs a few times, unable to form any sound. He doesn’t have the same problem.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She blinks up at him a few times, her body numb under his stare. She wants to be anywhere but here. Canada, Russia, Antarctica. Anywhere.

“I—I’m having dinner with, uh… with Peeta.”

She watches the familiar crimson filter through Gale’s cheeks.

“So it’s true, then,” he sneers.

“What?”

“That you’ve been coming here to see _him_.”

She isn’t shocked that word’s gotten around to him, but she’s a little amazed by how he’d try to pretend the rumors weren’t true. Well, now he knows.

She folds her arms indignantly, jutting out her chin as she glares at him. “Is there a problem with that?”

He coughs out a humorless laugh, palming his forehead. “Are you— _really_?” He shakes his head. “Okay, I get that you’ve signed him for your stupid remodeling project, but the fact that you’re spending time with him _just_ to spite me is pretty fucking ridiculous, Katniss.”

The mounting volume of his voice seems to have drawn a little attention to them; Katniss watches a few heads pop up from behind the cubicle dividers, curious glares fixing on her. _Her_.

Since she ran into him, Katniss has been too dazed to tap into her typical anger, but now that he’s invoked his own reserve, she has no choice.

“Oh, _that’s_ ridiculous?” she hisses, her face blazing. “You know what _I_ think is ridiculous? The fact that you _cheated_ on me, Gale. What about that?”

His jaw hardens, and the tendons in his neck thicken, protruding angrily. In their six years of marriage, she grew to know those tendons better than the taste of his lips.

“I know you’re obsessed with holding grudges and everything,” he spits out, “but maybe if you actually tried _talking_ to me about this, we could stop hurting each other so much.”

“Oh, so now you want to try talking?” Everything in her body blisters with heat. She can feel dozens of gazes pinned on her from around the office, but she can’t stop herself. “Gale, you cheated on me for _seven fucking months_ , and you never said a word! You didn’t just hurt me. You _betrayed_ me. So no, you don’t get to decide when or if we speak. If I ever decide I can _look_ at you without wanting to punch something, then hell, we can talk. But if that day arrives, everything will be on _my_ terms, not yours. You forfeited that right the first time, and every time, you let Piper in _our_ bed.”

A few startled coughs echo from the peanut gallery, and Gale must hear them, too, because his face flames an even brighter scarlet. “That’s what it’s always been with you, Katniss, you know that? You’re always so caught up in controlling shit that you don’t think of how the people around you feel! Ever think of why I wanted to be with someone else?”

Before she can register the blow, before his words can slice her open, she feels a hand cupping her shoulder, gently but firmly pushing her back. Suddenly, Peeta Mellark is wedged in between them, his back brushing her torso as he separates Gale from her. He may be nearly a head shorter than her ex-husband, but his broad shoulders, tensed arms, puffed-out chest compensate for the difference in height; it’s Gale that shrinks from the confrontation, suddenly looking so much smaller.

“I have to tolerate you being with my sister,” Peeta begins, his voice impossibly threatening even in its calmness. “But I don’t have to tolerate you being a complete ass. You fucked up, Gale. This mistake is yours, and it’s also my sister’s. But don’t you _dare_ pin this on Katniss.”

As the following silence grips hold of them, Gale’s nostrils flare, his fists clenching and unclenching. Before he can respond, however, Peeta’s hand is on her arm again, pulling her away from the scene. She doesn’t look back as she and Peeta leave Gale in the aisle, and she keeps her head down to avoid the bystanders’ probing stares. God, she’s humiliated. She wants to evaporate.

Peeta doesn’t say anything as he guides her into his office. As he goes about shutting the blinds, she finds herself standing in the center of the room, trembling in her numbness, her lip quivering slightly.

As soon as the door’s shut and locked, Peeta turns to her, gently cupping her elbows. “Don’t listen to him,” he says, his eyes fishing for hers. When she looks up, she sees blue, blue, blue. She takes a deep breath.

But her lungs are splintered, each inhale excruciating. “How can I not?” she whispers. “I—I drove him away. If I’d made him happy, he would—he wouldn’t have done that.”

His hands lift to her face, cupping her cheeks, his touch overwhelmingly intimate even in its innocence. “If a man isn’t happy in a relationship,” he says softly, “he either breaks it off with his wife or tries to talk it out with her. The least he can do is buy himself some pornos on pay-per-view and try to work it out that way.” Katniss cracks a smile, despite the budding wetness between her lids. “Look, Katniss… if he’s a good person, if he’s _worth_ it, he isn’t going to sleep with someone else for over half a year without saying a word. There’s nothing you could do to deserve that, alright? Absolutely nothing.”

As heartfelt as his words are, Katniss can’t bring herself to internalize them. They cover her like rain on cast iron, rolling along the sides, never soaking through. She isn’t convinced. She wants to be, but a part of her can’t forget Gale’s deprecation.

Standing there, with his palms warmly bracketing her cheeks, she suddenly acknowledges the great hollow that’s rooted itself in her belly. Before now, there were threads of anger there, crawling through her core and slithering into her bloodstream, but now they’re gone. All she feels is a great wad of nothing.

She’s brought back to the present with the soft whisper of Peeta’s thumb on her cheek, grazing a gentle arc into her skin. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmurs.

She just shakes her head. “I—I’m not good at that. Talking, I mean.”

But his eyes are bright, determined in their mission. “How can I get you to open up?”

“Alcohol,” she jokes with a sniffle and a dark laugh.

“I know where we can find some of that,” he says. “There’s a mediocre bar just around the corner.”

She eyes the bags on his desk, packed tall with Styrofoam boxes, radiating with the scent of oregano and black pepper.

“What about our dinner?”

“I think they have something for that. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe it’s called a mini-fridge.”

His smile draws hers out from hiding, even though her lips feel tight. She watches as he pulls away from her, cutting behind his desk to grab his keys and wallet from the top drawer, slipping the takeout into the fridge under the table.

“Don’t you have things that need to get done?”

“Yeah, and cheering up a friend is at the top of my list,” he says. “Now, let’s get going. My ability to be an effective human body shield wears off at about 6:15, and it is currently 6:10, so if I want to smuggle you out of here, it’s got to happen now.”

As he grins encouragingly at her, Peeta reaches for the door, and then her hand. His palm feels warm, his thick fingers fitting perfectly in the gaps between her own. Now, for the moment, her pulse settles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone up for some slightly intoxicated flirting?
> 
> Many thanks to the incredible deinde-prandium for (once again) proofreading. I threw this chapter at her with very little warning, and she still managed to work her magic!
> 
> Also, the wonderful cover art that's attached to this chapter is from tumblr user shininalltheway, who blessed me with this manip out of the blue! What a gem, I tell you.

* * *

 

He guides her carefully from the office, moving his arm to chastely – yet protectively – wrap it around her shoulders. She keeps her head down, watching her footsteps. But even with her focus drilling into carpet, she can feel all of the attention in the office on her, leaving blotchy, red marks on her skin in its wake.

When they’re safely in the elevator, Peeta drops his arm from hers. Her shoulder feels cold in its absence, and she almost asks for him to bring it back. Then, she remembers her place.

They’re quiet. But he stands close to her, so she doesn’t mind. She tries not to think about what this means, ignoring the implications of his effect on her, because she’s dealt with enough trauma tonight. Still, she can’t deny the way her nerves soften from his proximity.

The air is wet outside, thick and heavy in its post-storm calm, but she still craves his touch, somehow. He’s walking just in front of her, leading the way. Her fingers twitch at her side. Gale used to drift in front of her, too, usually because his legs were so long. She’d always grasp for his hand to hold him back with her. She wonders if she craves Peeta’s touch for the same reason, or if it’s because of something else.

Just around the corner, a small bar stands, wedged in between two much-taller brick buildings, neon lights squiggled in the glass front. The name _Ignia_ is framed and embellished. Patrons loiter along the patio area, and inside the bar, too; it’s almost a comfort to find the place so packed. It’ll be easier to blend in this way.

They manage to snag a booth toward the back. She asks the waitress for a Heineken. Peeta orders Sprite, and when Katniss leers over the table at him, he laughs. “What’s that look about?”

“ _Sprite_?” she spits. “What are you, twelve?”

“Well, one of us is driving the other home tonight, and it surely won’t be the one who wanted alcohol in the first place.”

He leans back against the booth, draping his arm over the wooden divider. A part of her wishes her shoulders were there, remembering the warm firmness of his hold, but then she reminds herself to drop it. She’s just stressed. Emotionally distraught. Confused. She needs to leave the poor man alone, not drag him into her drama.

God, her beer can’t come quickly enough.

He makes moderately awkward small talk with her while they wait, continuing after their drinks have arrived. Katniss takes a mighty swig of her Heineken, avoiding his eyes as he talks. She feels hot all over, flushed and sticky. But if he can tell she’s flustered, he doesn’t say anything – perhaps that’s why he keeps talking. He’s charitably saving her from making her own uncomfortable attempt at conversation. She gives him curt nods and short answers, waiting for the booze to start swirling in her blood.

It takes several minutes too long to happen, but soon the heat settles into a more satiating warmth. Her shoulders slump. Her stomach simmers. The rigid muscles in her face relax.

“I’ve only ever been with Gale before,” she blurts, quite unceremoniously.

Peeta coughs, his eyes popping out as he pushes his Sprite away. “Oh. Um… okay.”

“No, sorry, that… that came out wrong.” She palms her forehead, finding it burning underneath the pads of her fingers. “I just… I want you to know that Gale was it for me. And that’s why this is so hard, I think.”

He sucks in his lips, still slightly pale from her unprompted confession, but eventually he nods. “So, you’re ready to talk?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she says. “But… I’m not good at it. This whole _opening up_ business.”

His responding smile is generous. “Well, that’s what the alcohol and the really mediocre ‘mood-lighting’ are for.”

“ _Mood-lighting_ ,” she mimics as she leans back against the booth’s padding, her shoulders digging into the cushion. Then, she frowns at him. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“You need to talk about it, Katniss. I think addressing it will help.” When he realizes this hasn’t answered her question, he leans forward, his elbows propped on the table. “And yes. I love talking with you, Katniss, especially if it involves me drowning you in unsolicited advice.”

Despite the ache in her chest, dully numbed by the beer, she manages a smile.

“So,” he continues, encouraging her with a half-grin. “As you were saying… Gale was it for you?”

“ _Supposed_ to be it, I guess,” she corrects. Her arms fold over her stomach. “You know how long I’ve known him?”

“Since high school?”

“Since _first grade_.”

If his expression had hands, it would be empathetically patting her shoulder. “Oh, _Katniss_.”

“All throughout elementary school, he was my only friend,” she says. “We were from the same neighborhood. Our dads worked together. He once hit me in the head with a baseball.”

“And, let me guess. That was when you knew he was the one for you?”

She doesn’t know how he manages to draw out another smile from her when her face is so decisively steeled. Her grins are notorious for being like four-leaf clovers – rare and really weird – and yet, here Peeta is, effortlessly plucking one after another from the slopes.

“Not quite,” she says. “I actually threw the ball right back at him. Bruised his eye up real nice.” Her chest twinges angrily, and to soothe it, she takes another swig of her beer. “I thought he thought I was just one of the guys for the longest time. He must’ve at some point, because he didn’t treat me much differently than his other friends, at least not until high school. He asked me to our junior prom out of the blue.”

 She expects Peeta to throw in another witty remark, but he just watches her without comment, sympathy softening his features. She takes two more titanic gulps, but the throbbing in her chest still remains.

“I hadn’t ever thought of him like that before, not until he kissed me after prom. It was kind of gross, actually. He completely missed my mouth.” She touches her braid, growing red. “Anyway, I didn’t think he noticed me, but he said he always had, so we just… we just got together. It made sense, you know? We were always so close. A lot alike. No one was surprised. _I_ wasn’t even surprised, even though I’d never given it any thought. So we dated through the rest of high school, went to State together, got engaged toward the end. Married at twenty-two.”

“So he really _was_ it, then,” Peeta murmurs.

“I’ve never even looked at anyone else.” Her throat burns as she admits this. “I mean… I didn’t really care about romance. Then he stepped up, and everything fell into place. It wasn’t hard loving him, since being with him just seemed so logical to me. I haven’t…” She swallows. “Peeta, I’ve never even _tried_ to love someone else. I don’t think I know how.”

Something in his expression breaks, the blue clouding over. Suddenly, he’s reaching over the table, the warm expanse of his palm engulfing hers, and then the burning dies, the ache coming to a halt. It’s just him. Him, his sad eyes, his soft hands.

She feels calm, if only for a moment.

Just then, the waitress comes up, offering to bring Katniss another beer. She accepts, but not before she snaps her hand away, holding it like a burn wound against her chest. As their server leaves them, Katniss can feel Peeta’s gaze on her. Her face burns under his stare, and without warning, a giggle bursts through her lips.

“You know what? How about _you_ tell me _your_ life story,” she laughs through her thick throat, aiming to diffuse some of the tension.

But he isn’t fazed by this; his frown only deepens. “Katniss, we’re here because you need to let off some steam.”

“ _No_ ,” she insists, her tone light but her eyes pleading. “We’re here because I want to stop hurting. Over Gale, I mean. And you— well, you’re a fun guy.”

“Katniss—”

She leans forward, and this time, it’s her who grasps for his hand.

“Please, Peeta,” she whispers, sobering up.

Hesitation threads up his features, holding his tongue still for a moment. But then his fingers find hers, fitting too snugly in the spaces between for her to want anything else.

“There’s not much to tell,” he says, finally. “How much do you want to hear?”

“Everything.” She squeezes his hand. “School. Hobbies. Favorite color. Guilty pleasures. Lay it on me, Mellark.”

He chuckles at her eagerness, using his free hand to card through his curls. She’s used to seeing them so neatly styled, but this late, they’re more wild, and she thinks it’s the most beautiful thing.

The waitress brings her another bottle, which she grabs earnestly with her free hand, the other still clutching Peeta’s for dear life. She wonders if he wants to pull away. If he does, he surely isn’t dropping any hints.

“You’re going to regret this,” he warns. His eyes are lighter than before, though, which seems to drag the weight off her shoulders. She leans in.

He sighs.

“My parents were bakers,” Peeta begins. “Well, my dad did the baking. My mom did the bossing around. And I did the decorating. You know, sculpted sugar flowers, made fondant my bitch, all that jazz.”

Katniss snorts. “Then how come you’re not a baker now?”

“Well, that was the original plan, but the bakery burned to the ground when I was sixteen.” He says this so blithely that she barely has the opportunity to sober up; he grins immediately, almost consolingly. “Don’t get me wrong, it was awful at the time, but no one was hurt, and we had good insurance. The only issue we had to deal with was that we were out of work. So, we had to build a new bakery, and we had to do it rather quickly.”

“And _that’s_ where you got your muscles,” she blurts, pointing accusingly at him.

“I wish.” He chuckles lightly, and as he does so, his eyes crinkle charmingly in the corners. “I didn’t do any of the building. But I _did_ help with the floor plans. For me, blueprints became the new fondant. By the time the bakery was rebuilt, I’d realized my calling was in structural design. All the artistry involved with crafting sugar flowers came in handy, I suppose.”

“Think you could still do that?” she asks, her fingers dancing along the neck of her beer bottle. She tilts her head to the side, wishing someone could do the same to hers. Well, not just _someone._

“Decorate cakes and such?” When she nods, he shrugs. “Sure. Not as precisely, but I doubt I’ve lost my touch. I’ve got pretty steady hands.”

“Do you, now?”

Her words are guttural, low and husky enough to make both of their eyes widen.

Jesus. Is she _flirting_?

“You’d be surprised,” he says, half with hesitation, half with intrigue. “Most contractors let their crews do the work, but I think of what I do as more of a hands-on job.”

She can’t tell if he’s teasing her or not, so she simply says, “Someone’s bragging.”

“I’m not bragging. I just take pride in what I do.”

“And what else are you proud of?” She’s startled by the liquid taint to her words, the way they curl low off her tongue. But, strangely, she likes how it makes her feel, and she likes how it makes him swallow. Hard.

He mulls it over for a second before answering, “Well, not to sound cocky or anything, but I’m _really_ good at tying my shoes. I double-knot them and everything.”

“You’ve impressed me, Mellark,” she giggles.

“It’s really all in the technique.” Something in his eyes glimmers as he says this, making her mind wander to something that _definitely_ has nothing to do with shoelaces.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he parrots. “I’ve worked long and hard to perfect it.”

Unable to restrain herself from laughing harder, she clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Peeta’s lip quirks.

“What’s so funny, Ms. Everdeen?”

She shakes her head violently, color licking its way into her face as she focuses a little too closely on the way he said _long_ and _hard_. What the hell is wrong with her?

“Nothing,” she sputters, trying to swallow down her giggling. But it just won’t stop.

“I think I should take you home.” His voice is pumped full of amusement, and she’s thankful, because if he knew half of what she was thinking, he wouldn’t be so entertained.

“No, not yet,” she whines, but he’s already flagging down the waitress for the tab. “Peeta, I’m not _drunk_.”

“I didn’t say you were. I mean, you’d have to be one hell of a lightweight to go under after only two beers.” His eyes are so bright. _Damn._ “I do think you’re a little tipsy, though.”

Her nose crinkles. “How judgmental.”

“But you’re not arguing.”

She folds her arms indignantly, her silence telling all.

When the waitress comes, Katniss offers to pay and starts fumbling for her purse, but he slips the server his card before she can even locate her wallet. She opens her mouth to complain, only squeezing out a petulant _Peeta_ before he leans in, smiling too honestly for her to think of anything else but how white his teeth are. And how they might taste like Colgate.

“It was my pleasure,” he tells her, snapping her attention back to him.

Her stomach burns in a much-too-pleasant way.

* * *

While she’s far from being too tipsy to walk straight, she’s reluctant to admit this as he helps her through the doorway. His hand on her waist is steadying, warm in its closeness; she accepts it without reservation.

But in the foyer, she can feel his hesitation. His imminent goodbye hangs in the air, heavy and unwelcome like a wall cloud. So she grips his hand and leads him up the stairs without a word. He doesn’t deny her, even if he makes a startled choking sound.

At the top of the steps, she veers from the bedroom, guiding him into the study. It isn’t quite finished yet, but the windows have been installed, the thick planks now propped in the walls instead of cluttering the floor. Moonlight cuts in through the glass, illuminating the wooden panels, which are scratched and in desperate need of new veneer.

She can feel his hand still lingering on the small of her back, more out of willingness now than out of obligation. His touch feathery but certain. The dust-lined air bears down on her skin, and she tries not to think about how she’d rather it be his breath. She also tries not to think about how this used to be Gale’s room, and how she’s now brought a man in here, for whatever reason. Well, she knows exactly what the reason is, but she’s not yet willing to admit that to herself. This will be much easier to do if she doesn’t think. About him, about herself, and _especially_ about Gale, who she’s been holding at bay for the entire night.

But the mere thought of Gale cripples her lungs, and she reaches behind her, pulling Peeta’s hand from her back so that she can hold it in her own palm.

“I want to say something potentially deep, but certifiably cheesy,” she says.

His arm brushes hers. “Go for it.”

She takes a deep breath. His grip tightens in hers.

“I kind of feel this room on a personal level, you know?” she says, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. “It’s like a big part of me has been torn out, and I’m just hoping that what I put up in place of it will be better, even though it’s all really just a lot of space for me to be alone.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Then, his other arm moves to touch her elbow, pulling her closer so that they’re facing each other, just inches apart, silver locking with concerned blue. He looks like he wants to hug her and never let go. She can’t say she’d be too upset.

“It’s a good place for you to get yourself straightened out. Which, after what you’ve been through, is a good thing,” he murmurs when he finally pieces together a response. His eyes twinkle, pupils dotted with stars of their own, stringing his expression up in the most beautiful constellation she’s seen. And then his voice deepens. “Maybe, someday, you’ll have room to bring someone else in, Katniss.”

She swallows thickly, unsure of how to tell him that he’s wrong. She can bring him back to her house, into her life like this, but she can’t let him in like _that_. She can’t let anyone in like that, not again. Lust is easy, practical – after all, she knows she’s attracted to Peeta. But anything beyond that is too dangerous.

“No, Peeta. Once a yoga room, always a yoga room,” she whispers, not at all talking about yoga rooms.

But his hand lifts, his thumb dabbing her chin.

“Can’t yoga be a team sport?”

She’s not sure what possesses her to do it, but nothing in her seems to hesitate. Her arms are draped over the slope of his shoulders before she can consider what she’s doing, her fingers tangling in the now-wily curls she loves so much, her mouth curving under his.

His lips are slack in surprise at first, but he soon complies with her sloppy assault, his mouth slow and delicate as it seeks to steady her own. He tastes too good – not at all like Colgate, but a little like Sprite, and a _lot_ like something so deliciously Peeta-esque – and all she wants is to bottle up his flavor, memorizing and worshiping it with her tongue.

His hands drop to her waist, holding her with a gentle firmness that sets her nerves alight. As she deepens the kiss, she expects to feel Gale there, but Peeta holds her so differently. Now, all she can focus on is her desire to see just _how_ different he is from Gale, to test the limits of his wide, steady hands, to curl under his tongue as it explores more than just the inside of her mouth. Unable to wait, she trails her hand downward from his hair to his collar, pectoral, abdomen, stomach, down, down, down…

He jumps a little when her palm grazes the front of his slacks, but she eagerly cups his erection through the fabric anyway. Before she can even gauge his size, fashioning yet another comparison to Gale, his lips tear from hers. He yanks her wrist back.

“Katniss— this isn’t a good idea.”

Her cheeks blaze, partially from embarrassment, but mostly from arousal. Unwilling to stop, she surges forward, seeking his lips again.

But instead, her shoulders are stopped by his palms as he holds her at a safe distance.

“Are you sure you aren’t drunk?”

 “Well, if I am, then drunk me really likes kissing you.”

Through the gloom, glazed silver in the moonlight, Peeta smiles sadly at her. “Katniss, unless sober-you agrees with drunk-you, I think I should stop.” Her throat catches, anger swelling in her veins as she tries to protest, but he stops her by curling his fingers around her shoulder. “Look, I know you’re hurting, and I’m not about to take advantage of you. I’d rather try to help you the right way.”

“What do you mean, the _right_ way?” she snarls.

“I— I’m not sure,” he admits, cupping the back of his neck. “But I know that you have more than your fair share of pent-up emotions to deal with, and if I just helped you cover them up by encouraging whatever we were just doing… look, it’ll only hurt the both of us. And, if there’s anything I can do about it, you won’t be getting hurt on my watch.”

She rubs her temples. “You’re confusing me, Peeta.”

“I’m sorry.” He reaches forward, his palm molding to the curve of her cheek. “I just— I want to be careful with you. I want you to be able to heal.”

She’s clueless as to how she should respond, so she keeps her lips screwed tight.

“I really like you Katniss,” he murmurs after a moment, his thumb grazing the curve of her cheekbone. “So I refuse to be reckless with you. I’ll do what I can, but… I don’t know what will help you. So you’ve got to tell me what you need. _If_ you want my help, of course.”

Her head snaps up. _That’s a stupid thing to say._ She doesn’t think she’s good enough to be the benefactor of all his noble efforts, but she’s tired of hurting. If he can help alleviate some of that pain, through whatever “healthy” means he’s speaking of, she’d be insane to reject him.

So she nods, just slightly, terminating the gesture with a heavy swallow. Then she pushes out a deep breath. The sound is thick and shaky, clinging desperately to her lungs.

Her voice breaks.

“I just don’t want to be alone,” she whispers.

She can hear him exhale, his sigh a pathetic, despairing sound, and he tilts his forehead against hers. He doesn’t object once she pulls away, gripping his hand so she can tug him from the demolished study and guide him to the bedroom.

She doesn’t have the energy to remove her clothes, only enough to kick off her shoes. Once they’re discarded at the foot of the bed, she dives onto the mattress, the coils squeaking in surprise under her limp form. Her hand hasn’t left Peeta’s, however, so she feels the slight resistance from his wrist as he hesitates at the edge of the bed frame.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice thinned by the pillowcase against her mouth. She turns her head to look at him, simultaneously heartbroken and enamored with his stocky form, all thick curls and bright eyes, as he hovers over her. “Stay with me, Peeta.”

When she tugs slightly on his arm, she’s relieved to have her gesture met with compliance. His body dips into the mattress beside her, and he lifts the covers to tuck the both of them underneath. She snuggles up against his chest, craving the flutter of his heartbeat, and also _him_ , because she knows that’s the only thing that’ll grant her sleep.

As she flattens her cheek against his chest, lulled by his pulse, she hears him whisper something to her hair. But she’s too tired to isolate the words. Before she can ask for him to repeat them, however, she fades from consciousness, her last thought one of how impossibly safe she feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katniss and Peeta are in for quite a discussion in the morning, don't you think?
> 
> Come find me at the-peeta-pocket.tumblr.com if you want to party.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the-peeta-pocket on Tumblr, if you want to be friends.


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